“That is how I would have it, Cardinal.”
“And that is how they would have it, I know. I hope Your Majesty will consider it wise to have the children married before you need the help of Scotland next year against the English … as you assuredly will.”
The King was silent. What the Cardinal said was true. He himself was a soldier of some ability and he knew that he might shortly need the help of Scotland. The marriage would make sure of that.
He continued silent and the Cardinal went on: “Your Majesty, I have drafted an agreement which, if signed, would bring great good to France. It is premature, I know, and could not, of course, be signed by Mary Stuart until the marriage is certain; but thinking of the good of our country, and the depression we felt after Saint Quentin …”
“What is this agreement?” asked the King.
“If she could be induced to sign it, it would give her kingdom to the crown of France should she die without heirs; she would also transfer her rights to the crown of England to Your Majesty, or your successors, until a million gold crowns had been paid to France as an indemnity for those monies which France had paid out for the defense of Scotland.”
The King gasped. “But… how can she sign such a document? She has no power to do so without the consent of the Parliament and the Regent.”
“She is the Queen of Scotland. Her signature on the document would make it valid.”
“Would she sign such a document? Poor child, would she understand what she was doing?”
“I will explain it to her.”
The King was uneasy yet desperately tempted. He must be a king first now, and father second. Scotland was an unruly country; it was an unhappy, a tortured country; how much happier it would be, completely depending on France!
“She would sign,” said the Cardinal softly. “She would be only too happy to give you these rights. She loves you. You are her beloved father. She would be only too happy to repay something of all you have done for her.”
The King nodded. The crown of Scotland was being offered to him and his heirs. He could not turn away from it. The temptation was too great.
“I am sure,” said the smooth-voiced Cardinal, “that when she knows she is to be in very truth your daughter, gladly will she put her name to the documents which I shall place before her.”
“I think,” said the King, “that as they love each other and as they have known each other so long, it would please them to know that they are to be married.”
“Soon,” added the Cardinal. “I will break this wonderful news to my niece. I am impatient to witness her joy.”
“And I will break the news to my son. I know he will be the happiest boy in Fontainebleau this day.”
So the King smothered his conscience; the Cardinal—having none—was spared such pains.
THE CARDINAL came to conduct his niece to that chamber wherein the King was waiting for them with Cardinal de Sens, who was the Keeper of the Seals of France, in attendance.
The Cardinal had explained to Mary that this was merely a formality. All she need do was sign her name.
“What paper is it, Uncle?” she asked. “Should I not read it before I sign? You have always said that I should read everything before signing.”
“There is no need to tire yourself. It is such a bore—this language of the lawyers. I can tell you all you want to know. It is a little matter concerning Scotland’s debt to the King. You see, His Majesty and the French have given much money for the defense of Scotland, and you, as the Queen of that land, are going to sign this paper promising that you will arrange that, when Scotland is able to do so, the King is repaid.”
“That is what I would wish,” said Mary.
“Well, that is all it is.”
“But it seems such a solemn occasion for such a small thing, does it not?”
“Remember you are a queen, my child, and now that you are growing up there will be many occasions when some formality, which may seem unnecessary to you, will have to be carried out.”
Mary smiled and allowed the Cardinal to lead her to that chamber in Fontainebleau, and there, with the April sunshine streaming through the windows, put her signature to the documents which gave away that which she had no right to give, and which, although she was a girl not yet sixteen years of age and innocent of wrongdoing, brought great dishonor to her name.
MARY WAS being dressed for her wedding. About her were her four Marys and several attendants who were helping, their eyes bright with admiration and excitement.
Now she stood in her bridal dress; it was so heavy that she could scarcely stand, for its white damask was covered in jewels. Her royal mantle and train of bluish grey velvet was decorated with pearls; her golden crown was studded with pearls and diamonds, sapphires and rubies, and the centerpiece was a hanging carbuncle which alone was worth five hundred thousand crowns.
“You are the most beautiful bride there has ever been!” cried Flem; and the others agreed.
Mary laughed gleefully as she touched the priceless necklace she was wearing. The people in the streets would cheer her as she went from the palace of the Archbishop of Paris—where she, with the royal family, had spent the night—to the Cathedral of Notre Dame. They loved her because she was their charming Reinette, and her marriage to the Dauphin gave them such a show as they had never witnessed before.
François was happy too. He was not very nervous, he had told her, although he would have been terrified if he had had to marry anyone else. The thought of Charles worried Mary a little. He was so sullen; he seemed almost murderous and in deadly earnest when he declared he longed to marry her.
It was a pity that the Commissioners from Scotland had come to see her married, for they reminded her that she was Queen of a kingdom very different from this one. Their odd speech was so strange to her, though she supposed she herself had once spoken it. Their clothes were rough and lacking in elegance; they were suspicious of the French, and it had to be admitted that the French did laugh at them and mock them when they were not present. Mary was a little ashamed of her rough countrymen.
She was worried too about her half brother, Lord James, who had come with them. He had changed since she last saw him; outwardly he was as friendly as ever, but he seemed to be watching her furtively all the time; and she knew that James was among those covenanters who were in league with John Knox.
She was not to trust her brother, the Cardinal had warned her. She was to tell no one of the documents she had signed a short while ago. They were of no great importance, of course, but the Cardinal wished them not to be mentioned.
Mary had for years obeyed the Cardinal without question and she did so now.
But all her uneasiness vanished as she walked along the gallery which had been set up between the palace of the Archbishop of Paris and the Cathedral of Notre Dame.
The King—magnificently jeweled—held Mary’s right hand as they walked along the gallery, while the Duke of Lorraine held her left. Mary’s train was borne by young ladies who could scarcely lift it, so heavy was it with the jewels which adorned it. Behind them came Catherine the Queen and Jeanne the Queen of Navarre, followed by the ladies of the Court in order of precedence.
The King of Navarre walked with the Dauphin, and behind them came the two Princes—Charles, still glowering and sullen, and Edouard Alexandre full of gaiety because he had never worn such jewels as he wore that day.
At the door of the cathedral the procession halted and Mary was brought to stand beside the Dauphin.
Henri Deux took a ring from his finger and gave it to the Cardinal of Bourbon who was waiting to receive it, and there, under the blue sky, so that the people of Paris might witness the marriage ceremony, Mary Queen of Scots was married to François, Dauphin of France.